


The Kings Tell it Like it Was

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [21]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:39:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has returned to Erebor after camping out on Thranduil’s doorstep for a month – and he’s not well.  Brangwyn orders Thranduil to take him away on a short break but that, unfortunately, gives them too much time to discuss past lovers.  Their painful discoveries about each other are a bit too much for them to handle, especially Thorin.  Can they learn to cope and what unusual method will Thranduil employ in his desperate attempts to bring them back together again?  </p>
<p>Thank you, GreenJewel, for putting this idea in my head.</p>
<p>Follows on from The Kings and the Flowered Pavilion but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings Tell it Like it Was

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings Tell it Like it Was

 

Pt I

 

The Aftermath of Camping

 

After camping out for a month in his flowered pavilion at Thranduil’s gate, Thorin was ill.  He had developed a fever and the elven king was concerned enough to stay by his side both by day and by night and to write to Legolas, instructing him in the care of Mirkwood during his absence.

 

Oin came to check his king’s progress every day and told Thranduil not to worry: “He’s strong and he’ll shake this off in the end.”  But, the elf did worry.  It was at times like this that mortals seemed – well – so mortal.  And his nights were haunted by bad dreams.

 

Not that he slept much.  He dozed at Thorin’s bedside and constantly checked his condition.  If his skin burned, then he would lay cool, wet cloths on his forehead; and if the dwarf shivered, then he would climb into bed with him and fold him in his arms.  “Thank you,” Thorin would sometimes mutter, stirring from his fevered dreams. 

 

“Yes,” Thranduil would gently reply with a half-smile: “Such a sacrifice, to hold you and touch you and kiss you for half the night.”  And he would soothe Thorin back to sleep.

 

But, of course, he blamed himself for the dwarven king’s condition: he had shut Thorin out of his life, refusing to admit him into his palace in Mirkwood; and the cold and the wet that his lover had endured as he had camped on his doorstep had led to this illness.

 

But, in the end, Thorin began to recover and he was moved out of his bed during the day to a comfortable chair on the balcony.  And it was during an afternoon nap, when the king was dozing, wrapped in a fur-lined blanket, that their friend, Brangwyn, came to visit.

 

She took Thranduil into the neighbouring bedroom and shut the door.  “”This is your fault, Thranduil,” she said sharply.

 

“Don’t you think I know that?” replied the elven king.  And he looked so wretched that Brangwyn immediately softened her tone.

 

“Well, he is making good progress now, and so, I suppose, we must look to the future.”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil humbly, his head bowed.  Only Brangwyn could talk to him like this.  Even a wrong word from Thorin could spark a violent argument.  But, the beautiful dwarf woman loved them both and her care and compassion for the two kings which always seemed to direct them down the right path, gave her privileges that no-one else, not even Balin, was assured of.

 

“He needs to escape from all this,” she continued, gesturing vaguely around the room.

 

“What!  From me?” was the elf’s startled response.

 

“Of course not.  He needs you,” she said, giving him a kindly pat.  “No, when he fully recovers, he should escape from Erebor and the burdens of kingship for a while.”

 

“Well, didn’t he escape that when he camped on my doorstep?” the elven king asked wryly.

 

“It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience,” Brangwyn laughed.  “What I’m talking about is a holiday, just you and him, somewhere beautiful.  Have you any ideas?”

 

Thranduil mused for a while.  “Perhaps,” he finally smiled.  “I shall arrange things.”

 

“And,” continued Brangwyn sternly, “I want you to think hard about your behaviour when you’re with him.  At the moment, he is too fragile for you to continue with all your silly arguments.  At least for this holiday, you must be kind to him.  No harsh words, no walking out on him, no displays of jealousy.”

 

The elf nodded once more.   “I shall try my very best,” he said sincerely.

 

Brangwyn gave him a doubtful look.

 

.o00o.

 

A few days later, Thorin was back on his feet, tired but seemingly recovered.  He watched as his lover went to the cupboard and began packing his clothes.  “You’re not going back to Mirkwood yet?” he asked anxiously.

 

“No,” Thranduil laughed.  “I’m going on holiday – and you’re coming with me.”  And he began to pack a second bag with Thorin’s clothing.

 

“But – Erebor?” asked a puzzled dwarf.

 

“Don’t worry.  It’s all organised.  Balin, Brangwyn and your heir have got things covered.”

 

 Thorin grinned with pleasure.  “So, where are we going?”

 

“Ah, that’s a secret,” said Thranduil mysteriously.  “But, I’m sure you’ll like it when we get there.  It will take us a couple of days to reach the spot.”

 

.o00o.

 

They mounted their horses and trailed a pack-pony along behind.  Thorin followed Thranduil as he wound up the side of the cliffs that overlooked the plain stretching out before Erebor.  Then they entered the forest.

 

“Oh, no,” complained Thorin, “we’re not going to spend all our time in your palace of Mirkwood.”

 

“Of course not,” said Thranduil.  “We shall be travelling south of the elf road and our destination is lovely, I promise you.”

 

And so, in pleasant conversation, mingled with happy smiles, they wound their way through dappled glades, until it was time to rest a while by a pretty stream where they could eat their lunch.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

So, Who Was Your First?

 

Thorin and Thranduil had not made love for some weeks, not since the day that Thorin had returned to Erebor feeling ill.  The elven king watched him now, eating and smiling and talking, and wondered how long he would have to wait.  After Brangwyn’s words to him, he was anxious about behaving in any way that might upset his lover, but, when they had finished their meal and went back to their horses, Thranduil suggested that Thorin should mount in front of him so that he could help support him: “Then you won’t get too tired.”  And when Thorin agreed, the elf smiled gleefully to himself.

 

Thranduil held Thorin firmly against his body as the horse ambled easily along.  The dwarf’s black curls felt silky against the elven king’s face, his smell was familiar and arousing and the muscles flexing under his hand which he pressed tightly against his waist and stomach tempted him to explore further.  He bent and nuzzled Thorin’s neck and the dwarf lifted his face smilingly for a kiss.  Thranduil needed no further encouragement but slipped his hand inside the waistband of his breeches and fondled his genitals.  Thorin let out a faint sigh but did not protest.  The elf pressed his groin even harder into Thorin’s buttocks.

 

Thranduil ached to be satisfied and, in the end, he whispered a suggestion into Thorin’s ear:  “I could penetrate you as we ride along together, you know.”  Thorin stiffened and cleared his throat.   “I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he said.  “Someone might see us.”

 

The elf gave a laugh and gestured at their surroundings.  “And where in all this forest do you think these people are hiding who might spy on us?” he asked.

 

Thorin just shrugged and looked uncomfortable.

 

“Oh, my prim and proper Thorin!” Thranduil exclaimed.  Who would believe that he is such an abandoned lover in my bed?”

 

Thorin gave a wry smile.  “Don’t laugh at me,” he said.  “Before you, I knew nothing of such things.  And my old innocent and ignorant self sometimes surfaces.  I’m afraid you will have to be content with just squeezing my balls.”

 

This Thranduil did but he wasn’t exactly content.  “I find it hard to believe that I was your first,” he murmured as they rode along.  And Thorin, remembering the endless suspicions and arguments, knew just how true this was.  “A dwarf as good-looking as you,” the elf continued.  “Surely you attracted the attentions of many.”

 

The dwarf thought for a bit and then said: “I suppose I was their prince and their leader: I had an automatic respect and they kept their distance.  I did receive the odd gift, however, and once,” (he smiled at the memory), “a young dwarf gave me a bunch of flowers – and then ran away, looking embarrassed.  I always accepted such gifts with a gracious nod – no more.”

 

Thranduil let a small growl escape from his lips, as he imagined these dwarves and their gifts….and what they had hoped to receive in return from their prince.  More than a gracious nod, he was sure of that.  What an innocent his king had been!

 

“And then there was Dwalin,” Thorin continued.

 

Thranduil’s hand tightened convulsively on Thorin’s prick.  “I thought you said your affair with him was only a one-off.”  He just about managed to keep the snarl out of his voice when he remembered Brangwyn’s words.

 

“No,” Thorin reassured him.  “Nothing happened when we were young.  It’s just that I was always aware of the way that he looked at me.  And I knew that he would have died for me – and I knew why.”

 

The elven king grunted.

 

“And,” laughed Thorin, “there was Bilbo, of course.”

 

“Bilbo!” exclaimed Thranduil.  And a sudden unwanted image flashed into his mind of his lover with the tiny halfling on top of him, the pair of them going at it like rabbits.

 

Thorin grinned.  “I didn’t want him in the Company at first, you know.  I thought he would be a liability – and he was, on quite a few occasions.  I nearly killed myself once, rescuing the idiot after he had fallen over a cliff edge; and he almost caused the death of us all when he messed around with those trolls…..I haven’t told you the half of this, have I?”

 

No, Thranduil had been far too busy with other things to hear the long version of Thorin’s epic journey to Erebor.  “Go on,” he said shortly.

 

“But, in the end, he saved _my_ life and I was so overcome that I flung my arms around him.  He was as stiff as a board at first, but then he relaxed and, sort of……burrowed in.”

 

Thranduil’s rabbit image grew stronger.

 

“That night, I woke up to find his little naked body tucked in next to mine under my bed roll.  His hands were everywhere and it was very embarrassing…….Oh, and by the way, my love,” Thorin added mildly, “if you squeeze my prick any harder, you’re going to twist it off.”

 

Thranduil drew in a deep breath and relaxed his iron grip: Brangwyn would have been proud of him.  “And then?” he asked stiffly.

 

“Well, I had a talk with him and, after that, we were just good friends.  But, he was the first person who ever touched my body.”

 

It was lucky for the hobbit, thought the elf, that he had known nothing of this or he may not have survived to make the journey home to the Shire.  But, he kept this opinion to himself.

 

“So, I really was the first,” he said.  And a powerful feeling of possession and triumph washed through him.

 

“Yes, you were,” smiled Thorin, shaking his head that his beloved doubted him still.

 

“And were you afraid?” asked Thranduil curiously.

 

“Only in that I loved you so much by then that I was anxious I would disappoint you and that you would leave me after only one night.”  And he thought back to that time after The Battle of the Five Armies when the elf had nursed him through his injuries and, after his recovery, he had invited the king to his apartment in Erebor and had made advances upon him.

 

“You were very brave to be so forward,” laughed Thranduil.  “And how did you find your first time?”  He asked this casually, but Thorin’s answer was important to him.

 

“Absolutely traumatic,” he said, turning in his saddle and looking at the elf’s response.  But, when he saw his lover’s face drop, he immediately slipped his hand into his breeches and covered Thranduil’s hand with his own.

 

“I was very apprehensive,” he said quietly.  “But there was no need because it was all very beautiful.  I had yearned for you so much since recovering from my wounds and I thought you would go back to Mirkwood without me.  I was desperate enough to do something about it.  And, when you responded and came with me into my bedroom, I couldn’t believe it.  It was only then that I suddenly realised that you were the experienced one and I knew nothing.  I hadn’t thought that far and I suddenly felt a complete fool.”  

 

Thranduil kissed the top of his head and thought back fondly to that time.  “Yes,” he said, “you were very clumsy – though not in an unattractive way,” he hastened to add.    “Your naïve enthusiasm accompanied by your shyness was very appealing.”

 

“Once I had taken the first big step and got you into my bedroom, I just didn’t know where to start,” laughed Thorin.

 

“You took off your clothes,” said Thranduil, “and I nearly exploded with desire.”

 

“But, I felt so stupid, standing there naked,” Thorin continued.

 

“Which is why I stripped off mine and joined you,” was the response.

 

The dwarf drew in a deep breath.  “How beautiful you looked,” he said softly.

 

“But not as beautiful as you, my love.  Such strength, such power.... It was what I had totally desired for so long.”

 

“And when we lay on the bed together,” sighed the dwarf, “you seemed to know just where to touch me……I knew nothing.”

 

“You knew enough to persuade me that I never wanted to share my bed with anyone else,” laughed Thranduil.

 

The horse walked on and the two kings fell silent for a while, as they both remembered that first night together.  But, then, both Thorin and the elven king began to think about Thranduil’s first sexual experience when he had been seduced by Maelon in his youth, and how Thorin had also suffered abuse at the hands of the same elf lord.  The two of them seldom spoke of Maelon: Thranduil had dealt with him and he was someone that they both needed to forget.  And so they thrust those unhappy thoughts away just in time, as the sun began to set, and they made camp for the night.

 

As they sat and ate their food together that evening, Thorin suddenly said: “You know, I’d love to visit Bag End and see Bilbo once more.”

 

“Then you’d better go on your own,” snapped his lover.  But, then Thranduil bit his tongue and tried to explain that he had never really liked halflings.  “And he’s your friend, not mine.”  Thorin nodded in understanding and they began to get ready for bed.

 

 .o00o.

 

Pt III

 

And How Many Others?

 

At last, thought Thranduil, as he gasped and groaned his way into Thorin.  He liked screwing the dwarf on the unforgiving ground: he could drive deeper and thrust harder.  And, as he savoured the pleasures of Thorin’s body, he came in an overwhelming rush.

 

“And you?” he asked Thorin, as he panted upon his breast. 

 

“Too tired,” said the dwarf, gently stroking the long fall of golden hair.  “I think I need another day.”  And he turned in the elf’s arms and, snuggling backwards into his belly, he soon fell asleep.

 

Thranduil buried his face in Thorin’s dark, shaggy mane of hair and expected to fall asleep within moments too.  Instead, he found himself wide awake with his thoughts churning, and those thoughts were centred on that wretched halfling.

 

“His hands were everywhere…..he was the first to touch my body.”  Thorin’s words about Bilbo gnawed at the edges of his mind.  Where, precisely, was ‘everywhere’?  And he tossed and turned, thinking of the intimate places on Thorin’s body that Bilbo might have touched and which he considered belonged only to him.  And, how dare that hobbit be ‘the first’ to touch the dwarf - and in such an underhand way, sneaking into his bedroll when he was fast asleep!

 

And then the elven king felt angry with Thorin.  After that incident, why hadn’t he got rid of him?  He could easily have unloaded him at Beorn’s house or, at the very least, in Lake Town.  Instead of which, they seemed to have become closer.  How close, was the question?  And he remembered how, when Thorin was recovering from his wounds, Bilbo had often been in the dwarf’s tent, holding his hand and even crying over him!  What had gone on between the two that Thorin wasn’t telling him about?

 

Just thinking about that skinny little rabbit burrowing into Thorin made Thranduil irritatingly hard.  Carefully, he eased himself between the dwarf’s buttocks, and penetrated him gradually up to the hilt.  This wasn’t too difficult since he was still wet and slippery from their earlier bout but, once there, he dare move no more in case he woke Thorin up.  Stressed and swollen and angry as he was, it surprised Thranduil, when the sun came up, to find that he had actually fallen asleep.

 

“Mmm,” murmured Thorin, wriggling with pleasure against the elf’s now newly hardened morning erection.  “That’s nice.”

 

“Nice enough for some pleasure before we set out on our way?” asked the elf huskily.  He knew that Thorin wasn’t a morning person, but he lived in hope.

 

“ ’Fraid not,” said Thorin apologetically, giving one last wriggle as a consolation prize before he slid off the elf’s erection.  “You wore me out last night and I haven’t recovered yet.”

 

Thranduil felt hard done by and then mentally slapped his own wrist as he reminded himself of Brangwyn’s words.  With a sigh, he gave the dwarf a gentle kiss and got up to break camp.

 

.o00o.

 

“Are we nearly there?” asked Thorin, as they set out once more.

 

“Nearly,” laughed Thranduil. 

 

“Have we got time to talk about your wife, then?” came the unexpected next remark.

 

Thranduil, who had been doing his best to arouse the dwarf as a punishment for rejecting his advances earlier on, found that his hand suddenly stilled.  “My wife?”

 

“Yes, your wife,” Thorin persisted.  “You never talk about her and I feel I need to know what sort of relationship you had with her.  She is a sort of…threat to me.”

“She’s dead,” said the elven king in surprise.  “How can she be a threat?”

 

“Because,” muttered Thorin in embarrassment, “I’m always thinking that perhaps she was the great love of your life and that I am merely second in your heart….and in your bed.”

 

Thranduil nearly laughed but he could hear the note of hurt in the dwarf’s voice and so he tried gently to explain.

 

“I loved her for hundreds of years,” he explained quietly, “and the longer my father, Oropher, kept us apart, the more I wanted her.  When my father was killed and we finally married, we were very happy for some time.”

 

“What’s it like, sleeping with a woman?”  Thorin’s voice was taut and gruff.

 

Thranduil paused for a moment and then said carefully: “Different.  It’s different.  You have to remember that, before her, the only physical contact I had experienced had been with Maelon – and he had been brutal and controlling.  You understand, don’t you?”

 

And remembering his own awful encounter with Maelon, Thorin certainly understood.

 

“And so, her gentleness, her softness, seemed very wonderful to me.  But, then, after I brought her back to Mirkwood, things began to go wrong.  Even our delight when Legolas was born didn’t help our relationship.  Rather, she used my son as a weapon and I was soon feeling very controlled again, albeit in a different way.”  Thranduil sighed as he looked back.  Emotionally, it had been a very hard time for both of them.

 

“But, she died, of course, and I came to Erebor and saw you.  And, suddenly, beyond any expectation, my life had changed forever.”  Thranduil knew what he said next would be very important.  He brought the horse to a halt, dismounted and helped Thorin to the ground so that he could face him.  With his hands either side of that beloved face, he pinned him gently against a tree and looked him intently in the eyes.  “I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach.  I loved you the moment that you stepped out of the shadows from behind your grandfather’s throne.  I denied that love for 60 years because the strength of it was so shocking and because all my life I had been brought up to believe that the dwarves were a lesser race.  But, you found your way into my heart and into my bed and that’s where you’ll always stay.”

 

The horses, free to roam for a while, quietly cropped the grass and ignored their masters as they sighed and moaned and thrust up against the tree.   Tremblingly, the two finally collapsed upon the soft turf.  Thranduil kissed Thorin’s forehead and the two lay there for a while, considering their love for each other.  But, in the end, Thranduil had to ask: he was owed a response after explaining about his wife.  All Brangwyn’s advice blew away in the wind.

 

“Did you fuck Dwalin, or did Dwalin fuck you?”  The words burst abruptly from him and he couldn’t stop them.  Thorin stiffened and, for a moment, the elf thought he wasn’t going to answer.  In the end, he said curtly: “He was too big for me.”

 

Thranduil should have stopped at this point, but…. “How many times?”

 

Thorin felt uncomfortable and angry but said harshly: “I sucked him off once and fucked him twice.”  For a moment, Thranduil wished that he could turn back the clock because this wasn’t an image he wished to carry in his head.   Thorin pushed himself to his feet and began to get dressed.

 

“Three times?” said the elven king, sitting up.   “What passion!” he exclaimed sarcastically.

 

Thorin drew his belt tight.  “It was good,” he answered in clipped tones.  “He gave me what I needed.”

 

“Three times!” the elf snarled getting to his feet to face the dwarf.  It sounds more as if you gave Dwalin what _he_ needed!”

 

And perhaps he deserved it!” snapped Thorin in return.

 

“Unlike me, of course,” the elf responded as he yanked up his breeches.

 

“You said it, not me,” said Thorin, his voice rising; and he stomped away from the elven king.

 

“How big?” yelled Thranduil after him.

 

The dwarf turned and stared.  “You’re unbelievable,” he said and then he whistled to his horse and got ready to mount him.

 

Thranduil stopped him just in time.  “I’m sorry,” he gasped, grabbing Thorin by the shoulder.  “I should never have started that conversation.  Let’s forget it ever happened.”

 

There was a pause for a moment and Thranduil held his breath.  “All right,” muttered Thorin finally.  “But,” he said, still with his boot in the stirrup, “I ride my own horse.”

 

Thranduil nodded meekly, grateful that his punishment was so small.  And, in silence, the two rode out of the glade and towards their destination.

 

.o00o.

 

For an hour they continued to ride in silence, Thranduil leading the way.  The elven king dare not open his mouth in case his lover flared up.  But, he was saved, at last, by their arrival at a spectacularly beautiful valley.  Thorin paused to admire the view.

 

“This is it!” grinned the elf, and he pointed to a graceful group of buildings halfway down the valley side.

 

“What is this place?” Thorin asked in wonder.

 

“It’s a sort of elven retreat,” explained Thranduil.   “A place to which we have retired for thousands of years when the burdens and woes of Middle-earth have been too much for us.  It brings us healing and serenity.”

 

“Why did I not know of this?” continued the dwarf.  “After all, it’s not too far from Erebor where I lived for over a hundred years before the dragon came.”

 

“Ah, sadly,” was the reply, “it became a place of desolation after the evil of the Necromancer settled over Mirkwood.  But, in the past year, we have driven the giant spiders out and have made it beautiful once more.  When Brangwyn suggested I take you somewhere nice, I immediately sent messages that this place should be prepared for our coming.”

 

“So, there’ll be servants?” asked Thorin.  And he sounded almost disappointed.

 

“No,”laughed Thranduil.  “We shall have the whole place to ourselves.”  And then he galloped away down the hill with Thorin following more slowly behind him, tugging at the pack pony.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

And, Did I Mention……?

 

Thorin was like a child, running around and exploring all the pretty structures of the retreat.  They were a group of elegant pavilions, but, unlike the flowered pavilion that Thorin had constructed at Thranduil’s  gates, these were well-built …… “And watertight,” said the elf, pointing to the pale green wooden shingles on the roofs.

 

“This one’s the best,” said Thranduil, indicating a largish pavilion that had a spectacular view down over the valley towards a shining cascade.  Inside was an airy room with large windows and a bed; just off this room was a small bathing pool and, next to that, a kitchen.  The elven king examined the contents of the cupboards.  “Ah, good,” he nodded.  “They’ve left a stock of food.”  And he drew out bread, butter, salads, vegetables, cheese and various other useful commodities.  Then he went to the pool and tugged on a rope draped over the side and, much to Thorin’s amazement, pulled out a crate of wine.  “The water’s cold,” he laughed.

 

“So, it’s bread and cheese for the rest of the week?” asked Thorin with a raise of his eyebrow.

 

“Certainly not!” replied Thranduil.   “We’ll go fishing in the stream…And then I’ll cook for you.”

 

Thorin roared with laughter.  “You?  Cook?” he exclaimed.  And the thought of his elegant lover actually cooking filled him with merriment.

 

It was good to see him laugh, thought the elf with pleasure.   And, putting his hands on his hips, he said indignantly: “I’ll have you know it’s my special skill, learned at my mother’s knee and from my men over thousands of years whenever we went on a long march.”

 

Thorin shook his head in disbelief and then snorted again as the image of Thranduil the Cook came into his mind.

 

But, he was proved wrong.  They spent a lazy afternoon with their rods down on the banks of the beautiful stream and, when they returned to the pavilion, Thranduil rolled up his sleeves and prepared one of the best meals that the dwarf had ever eaten.  Leaning back with a sigh in his chair and taking a sip of wine, he said: “No wonder you have kept this skill a secret, my love.  If I had known, I would have sent you to slave in the kitchens every day to prepare food for me.”

 

“Well, I think I deserve some kind of thank you, don’t you?” grinned the elf.

 

Thorin’s eyes darkened and then he knocked back the remaining wine and, silently rising from his chair, moved off to the bathing pool, shedding clothes as he went.  The water was freezing and Thranduil yelped as he leapt in behind him.  “The main drawback of this place,” he laughed.  Then they climbed out quickly and scampered to the bed which had been beautifully made up with crisp, white linens.

 

Shivering, they clutched each other in a cold embrace.  Thorin warmed up the fastest, as he usually did, and soon he burned like one of his own furnaces.  “My hot lover,” whispered Thranduil into his throat.  “You melt my icy heart.”

 

.o00o.

 

With such large windows, the pair woke up with the sun.  They stirred sleepily in each other’s arms and Thorin softly kissed his lover’s face.  “Hello, morning person,” he said.

 

“Hello, not-morning person,” Thranduil smiled back.

 

Thorin thoughtfully twisted a strand of golden hair around his finger.  “I had a rather disturbing dream last night,” he said.

 

“Tell me about it,” whispered Thranduil, pulling him close.

 

“I dreamt we shared this bed with all our former lovers: Maelon, your wife, Dwalin – even Bilbo.  But, there were other shadowy figures with us too and I couldn’t make out their faces.  I suppose,” he added, looking searchingly up at the elf’s face, “they represent the ones that have been the ‘suspects’ in our lives – those that were never lovers but which we became jealous of.  Like Ethril.”

 

“Ethril?” murmured Thranduil.

 

Yes, Ethril.  Because Ethril was the elf lord who had pretended to be the elven king’s lover when Thranduil was desperately trying to drive Thorin out of his life – for the dwarf’s own good.  And then, in a real attempt to gain the love of his king, Ethril had deliberately set up Thorin so that Thranduil would believe that the elf and the dwarf had betrayed him together.

 

Thranduil had stiffened when the name Ethril had been mentioned and, suddenly, there was a stillness between the two as they lay there on the bed.  Thorin seized the elf’s jaw: “Can you swear to me that there never was anything between the two of you?”

 

The stillness and the silence lengthened.  “No, I cannot swear,” said Thranduil quietly at last.  Then trying to look Thorin steadily in the eyes, he muttered: “He was a friend and a follower for a long time.  I knew he wanted me but I ignored that, choosing to keep him by my side as a useful aide.”  He sighed.  “And then I came to Erebor and saw you….but you rejected me and I was hurt, angry and humiliated.  I turned my back on Erebor when the dragon came – and you can add guilt to that list of emotions.  When I returned to Mirkwood, I went straight to Ethril’s room and…..I fucked him.  It was my revenge on you.  I pretended it was you I had in my power and it was a violent and brutal joining.  Even so,” he added, looking away, “he seemed to enjoy it and wanted our relationship to continue.  But, I didn’t want him, you see.  Only you.”

 

Thorin stared at the elf in stunned disbelief.  “I knew you could be cruel,” he said at last.  “But not that cruel.”  Then he got up from the bed and began to dress. 

 

“Don’t go,” pleaded Thranduil.

 

Thorin gave him a bewildered look.  “There are things about you that I just don’t understand,” he said.  “And when I see such things, it is then that I begin to realise that thousands of years lie between us and it is a gulf I cannot span.”

 

Thorin donned his cloak.  “And as you always say under similar circumstances: don’t follow me.”  Then he was gone from the room.

 

_Don’t follow me_.  But, of course, Thranduil did.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt V

 

The Way to a Man’s Heart……

 

Thorin didn’t amble home but pushed his horse and made it back to Erebor after a long, hard day.  He arrived   dishevelled, cold and hungry and went straight to bed – where he tried to sleep but couldn’t.  In the morning, he got up bad-tempered and miserable.  There was a quiet knock and Brangwyn stuck her head around the door.  She looked both surprised and sad.

 

“Oh, so you _are_ here,” she said.  “Thranduil’s downstairs asking to see you.  What’s happened now?”

 

Thorin sighed.  “Well, despite your well-meaning machinations, Brangwyn, I’m afraid that the holiday away from it all just hasn’t worked.  All it did was gave us time to find out some uncomfortable truths about each other.  Tell him to go away.”

 

“Really?” she asked, her eyes wide.  “I don’t think you can mean that.”

 

“I’m afraid I do,” he responded.  “The only thing that elf’s good for is the kitchen.”  She blinked at this.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”  And he firmly ushered her from the room.

 

Thranduil leapt anxiously to his feet when he saw her coming.  “I’m sorry,” she said sadly, “but he showed me the door.”

 

“Did he say anything?” asked the elf.

 

“Only – for some reason – that the best place for you was the kitchen.”

 

“Right, then,” said the king firmly.  “If he thinks that’s a good idea, that’s where I’ll go.”  And he turned on his heel and marched off, leaving a very puzzled Brangwyn behind him.

 

.o00o.

 

A few hours later, a servant knocked on Thorin’s door with a large, covered plate.  “The kitchens thought you might like this, sir, after your long, hard ride home last night.”

 

Thorin took the plate to the table and removed the lid.  Beautifully arranged on a china serving dish were at least a dozen strawberry tartlets – heart-shaped and his absolute favourite.   Thorin sat down and gorged himself on them.  The pastry cases were melt-in-the-mouth and the contents were wonderfully sweet.  That was nice of the cooks, he thought, as he stuffed the last of them into his mouth and brushed the crumbs from his beard.  Food always helped a bit – but not a lot.

 

He felt too wretched to have lunch in the dining hall and sent downstairs for lunch.  When he examined the tray, he found a beautifully prepared trout – and he wished it had been something else, because it reminded him too much of that lovely sunny afternoon when he and Thranduil had gone fishing for their dinner.  He poked it with his fork but, after trying a mouthful, he ate the lot because it was truly delicious.

 

He went for a lie-down then, but could only dream of Thranduil.  He was woken up by another servant in the late afternoon, bringing him tea and cake: _To make my miserable life happy_ , he thought.  Cake was the answer to everything, Brangwyn used to say.  And he wondered if she had directed the servant to bring the tray to his room.

 

He lifted off the domed lid that covered the tray and gazed in wonder.  The cake was not a mere slice: it was a whole cake, small but exquisitely formed.  This iced marvel was moulded and piped into a beautiful scene: a gentle hill ran down to a glittering stream and, on the hillside, was a group of elven pavilions sculpted out of sugar; and next to the stream were two tiny figures, one dark, one fair, made out of coloured marzipan.  The whole thing was a work of art. 

 

And then he knew!

 

Just for a moment, Thorin felt like throwing the cake across the room.  That wretched elf!  How dare he continue to play with his emotions when he had been told to leave?  He would go downstairs and make himself perfectly clear…….but, first, he would just have a mouthful of that wonderful confection!

 

.o00o.

 

When Thorin strode into the kitchens, reinforced with delicious cake, he was ready to do battle….And then he stopped in his tracks.  Thranduil was standing there, bent industriously over a table, his sleeves rolled up, flour on his nose, sweat on his forehead and bits of – stuff – in his hair.  The chef was nagging him to hurry up and clear the table so that others could use it, but Thranduil continued to knead a large lump of dough determinedly.  He looked very tired.

 

“Thranduil!” roared Thorin.  The elven king looked up with a start.  “Get out of this kitchen at once!” the dwarf yelled, pointing to the door.  “And stop making a fool of yourself!”

 

The exhausted elf stumbled up the stairs with the black-browed dwarven king bringing up the rear, muttering on about Thranduil demeaning the majesty of kingship.  Thranduil turned left towards the stables but Thorin grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt.  “And where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

 

“Mirkwood?” was the response.

 

“Oh no, you don’t!” snapped Thorin.  “You’ll fall off your horse in the dark, the state you’re in.  And then I’ll get the blame.  You need a rest and some food first – and you should brush all that food out of your hair – you look a mess.  _Then_ you can go.”

 

He pushed the elf down the corridor until they reached his apartment and then he shoved him bad-temperedly inside.

 

“Sit down!” he ordered, pointing to a chair.  And then he ran a brush through the untidy hair with vicious strokes.  “What on earth is all this!” he growled, pulling out lumps of food and trying to unknot little matted clumps.  “I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what you thought you were doing.”

 

Finally, he threw the brush in exasperation across the room.   “Oh, just go and have a bath!” he shouted.  The elf meekly did as he was told.

 

Thorin stomped over to the pool with fresh towels and rolled his eyes as he saw Thranduil trying to scrub his own back.  He knelt down and, picking up a sponge, began to do it for him.  He nearly said, “Honestly, Thranduil!  What would you do without me?” but he managed to bite back the words just in time.  Because he _would_ have to do without him, wouldn’t he?

 

The thought made him even angrier and he stormed back into the bedroom and threw himself into a chair.  When Thranduil entered hesitantly, wrapped in a towel, he ordered him to get between the sheets.  The elven king crept under the coverlet and sat there, propped up against the pillows, gazing at Thorin with tired, mournful eyes.

 

“When was the last time you slept?” snapped the dwarf.

 

“I rode through the night and I’ve been working in the kitchen ever since I arrived - after you turned me away.”

 

Thorin gave a grunt of impatience and Thranduil was too exhausted to fight any longer.  Tears began rolling down his cheeks.  “Stop that!” yelled Thorin.  But the tears only flowed faster.

 

Thorin rose to his feet and paced around the room.  “Why didn’t you go?  Why did you work in the kitchens?”

 

“Because you said it was the best place for me,” sniffed the elf.  “And you were right.  I thought there I could be near you still and look after you.”  He paused; then, glancing up, he said: “Did you like the cake?”

 

“Did I…..did I….?  By Mahal, words fail me, Thranduil,” Thorin spluttered.  He knew he was weakening and that he could only find safety in rage.  “There is one thing you must understand.  And that is that I cannot live with someone who has sexually assaulted a friend who has loved him just to take revenge on me.  What sort of person are you?  I just don’t know you.”

 

“Dwalin loves you and you used him when you thought fit,” pleaded the elf.

 

“It wasn’t the same!” stormed the dwarf.  “It wasn’t brutal or an act of revenge.  It wasn’t the same!”

 

Thranduil blew his nose on the edge of the coverlet.

 

“Don’t do that!” yelled Thorin, snatching the cover away.  Then, softly: “Don’t do that, Thranduil.  You’re breaking my heart.”  And, yes, it was heart-breaking to see the arrogant elven king reduced to such a pathetic state.

 

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” he whispered. 

 

Thorin continued his pacing around the room.

 

“I made you strawberry tartlets……..heart-shaped…….to show I loved you,” Thranduil mumbled.

 

It was too much.  Thorin suddenly turned towards him and, sitting on the bed, drew the elf fiercely to his breast.  “I cannot give you up….I _cannot_!” he murmured brokenly in his lover’s ear.

 

“Please, _please_ don’t give me up,” whispered Thranduil in return.  And he seized the dwarf by his plaits and kissed him with such passion and longing that Thorin crumbled as easily as one of the strawberry tartlets.  He yanked back the sheets, pushed the elf back on the pillows and undid his breeches.  It all went on for an ecstatically long time and when they finally fell apart, Thranduil slowly stroked that beloved cheek and said: “Well, you could have taken your boots off first.”

 

“Oh,” laughed Thorin, grinning down at him. “Is it better that way, do you think?”

 

“Well, perhaps we need to do a comparative study,” was the prim response.  And so, the boots and the clothing were shed and they made a careful comparison – purely for academic purposes, of course.  Even the sun didn’t wake up the exhausted pair when it rose to greet them the next morning.

 

And even Brangwyn knocking on the door didn’t rouse them; and when she stuck her head into the bedroom, she found them fast asleep, sweetly enclosed in a tight embrace.  “Thank goodness for that,” she said in a loud voice.

 

Each king opened a startled eye and hastily drew the sheet up to their chins.  “What a coy pair you are!” laughed Brangwyn.  “Now, come on!  Get up!  I want you two downstairs for breakfast a.s.a.p.  We’ve prepared fresh horses for you and, while you’re eating, I’ll pack your bags.  Then you will set off for that retreat and you will stay there for a whole week – no arguing, no discussion of sensitive subjects – you’ll just eat and sleep and fish and make love all day long.  And that’s an order!”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” they both laughed, giving her a salute.  After all, who would dare disobey the formidable Brangwyn?  Not these two kings, that’s for sure!

 

.o00o.

 

**This might be the last story for some time: I took a long time to write this one and I seem to have run out of ideas – temporarily, I hope.**

**Thank you very much for accompanying me on this ride and, if this is the first of my Thorinduil stories for you, then I hope you will go back to the beginning and start off with King of the Antlered Throne.  Our two kings have come a long way since then.**

**If you want to read the stories which relate to all their lovers mentioned in the above story, then:**

**_King of the Antlered Throne_ tells you how they met and we learn about Thranduil’s wife.**

**_The Kings and the Elf Lord_ is about Ethril.**

**_The Kings and the Rivals_ describes Thorin’s first brush with the evil Maelon.**

**_Kings, Secrets and Lies_ continues the Maelon seduction.**

**_The Kings and the Forges_ explains how Thorin comes to spend a night with Dwalin.**


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